" He turned his face toward the north, in the
direction of Paris. His eyes closed; he was very pale. "Do we not die
sometimes, Victor, while yet the heart and brain go on beating and
thinking?"
Victor grasped the Chevalier's hand. There are some friendships which
are expressed not by the voice, but by the pressure of a hand, a
kindling glance of the eye. Brother Jacques moved on. He saw that for
the present he had no part in these two lives.
"Look!" Victor cried, suddenly, pointing toward the harbor towers.
"Jehan?" murmured the Chevalier. "Good old soul! Is he waving his
hand, Victor? The sun . . . I can not see."
"Do you suppose your father . . ."
"Who?" calmly.
"Ah! Well, then, Monsieur le Marquis: do you suppose he has sent Jehan
to verify the report that you sail for Quebec?"
"I do not suppose anything, Victor. As for Monsieur le Marquis, I have
already ceased to hate him. How beautiful the sea is! And yet,
contemplate the horror of its rolling over your head, beating your life
out on the reefs. All beautiful things are cruel."
"But you are glad, Paul," affectionately, "that I am with you?"
"Both glad and sorry.
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